Hope.

I feel ripped off by Disney movies. I feel ripped off because they lied to me when I was just a gullible little kid, and made me wish I could go to a ball and find the love of my life. I feel ripped off, because they made me hope for something impossible. I grew up believing that my very own Prince Charming would find me, and it would be lovely, and I would be happy forever and there would never be a spider in the bath, or a blown light bulb when I’m home alone, or a rainy day when I missed the bus. My Prince Charming would never let me feel sad. I honestly believed that, because seeing is believing, and that was all I’d seen.

But I was little then, and now I am twentytwo years old, and I wonder if Prince Charmings even exist. I’m glad I’ve realized now that even if I did find that perfect boy for me, sometimes spiders might still crawl up through the drain and I might only see them once I’d gotten all my bubble bath and candles ready. And I know that bus drivers are dickheads and won’t stop driving for someone who’s running to the stop, even if I do find the love of my life. I am glad that I know, now, that it’s okay if I never have a man like Prince Eric or Aladdin. Because Eric fucked a fish lady and Aladdin wears stupid pants anyway, and they couldn’t solve all my problems with a pretty song.

And now, if my very own Prince Charming came along, I wouldn’t even see him.